


tender mercy

by lancenoble



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: (talked about at length but not shown), Canonical Character Death, Conversations, Friends to Lovers, M/M, References to Illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 14:13:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17469113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lancenoble/pseuds/lancenoble
Summary: With a little water and a little bit of sunlightAnd a little bit of tender mercy, tender mercy.//What is fanfiction for if not to make important offscreen conversations as gay as you wantspoilers for all of winter in heiron and up to spring 04





	tender mercy

**Author's Note:**

> title from absolute lithops effect by the mountain goats

 

The underground garden was in near constant need of weeding. Ephrim would do it himself, but after the news of Morbash’s death he’d taken on more responsibilities of the administrative kind and less of the adventuring and manual labor kind. But when he found time, he was glad to spend it in the garden. Lately, he’d been finding less and less time, and it was only when he got word of a pest problem did he decide to make the short trip down.

He knew someone had been taking care of it in his stead; he’d mentioned the order offhanded to one of his retainers multiple times, to be sure their source of medicine stayed well attended. But still, he hadn’t quite expected that the constant knot in his chest would loosen a bit to see for himself that the cool interior of the underground garden wasn’t _completely_ overrun by weeds. He also hadn’t thought that he’d find anyone else in there, but Throndir was kneeling amongst the Sun’s Breath with a trowel, Kodiak sniffing around in the compost pile at the far end of the cavern.

Ephrim coughed, and Throndir only turned his head incrementally as he dug his tool into the ground. Kodiak bounded up to meet him, his tail wagging furiously, so Ephrim paused to pet him as a hello.

“Is something the matter?” Throndir asked, still not turning around.

“I heard there was a pest problem,” Ephrim said, leaving Kodiak to dig around by the doorway to approach him. “Thought I’d see it for myself.”

“It’s those new plants. They're feeding on the other ones. Here.” Throndir passed him the trowel handle first once he got close enough. Ephrim took it and knelt beside him, ignoring the twinge of dismay at Throndir not giving him his usual friendly greeting. A pile of bruised-looking leaves tumbled into the dirt in front of him, and he picked one up to inspect it as Throndir reached for a nearby pair of pruners.

“Have you been getting the roots?” He asked. Throndir nodded.

“They run shallow, which is good, but they’re sprawling, which is a pain in the ass.” He pulled at the stem of one of the invading plants experimentally, and roots immediately surfaced.

Ephrim hummed in acknowledgement. He dug out the soil beneath another nearby sprout that showed the bruised leaves and tugged upwards with the trowel, slowly pulling the root system up with the stem and leaves, careful not to tear any of the more spindly roots. It took a while and some wiggling to get the whole plant loose, but he managed it, with only a few of the thin tendrils embedded in the dirt left behind to show for it. He grinned.

“Nice,” Throndir smiled back, finally, finally. That knot in Ephrim’s chest unwound further. He stuck his trowel beneath another sprout and began pulling, and Throndir did the same. They passed an hour in easy conversation about the happenings in and around the University, catching each other up on their lives in the weeks since their last expedition. They had fallen into a comfortable silence for a moment, when Throndir moved and a flash caught Ephrim’s eye.

“Why are you still wearing that?” Ephrim asked, gesturing at the Golden Lance badge on his lapel with his trowel. The motion held all the nonchalance of his benign curiosity. Throndir set down his pruning shears with a soft thump in the dirt. He glanced at Ephrim for only a second before replying.

“I guess I can’t blame you for not knowing, but I’m a member.”

“I mean so was I, but I didn’t get to keep the badge.” Ephrim hacked away at an errant dandelion between them. “What gives?”

“I was promoted.” Ephrim shot him a look, but Throndir fiddled with a loose leaf instead of meeting his gaze. The look turned into a frown.

“Is… that a bad thing?”

“Not really. It’s pretty cool all things considered, but I’m not…” Throndir sighed. “I’m not what you would call traditionally… alive anymore?”

Ephrim dropped his trowel, and was silent for a long while.

“Please say something,” Throndir whispered, finally looking at him.

“You don’t… but you’re not Unstill.”

“Well…” Throndir trailed off. He sighed again through his nose and rubbed at the back of his neck.

“Hey, don’t feel like you have to tell me something you don't want to.” Ephrim said and settled back on his haunches, his hands on his knees. “I don't have to know the details. But you’re really full on Golden Lance?”

Throndir nodded and bit the inside of his lip. “I should tell _you,_ though.”

“You really don’t have to, but don’t worry,” Ephrim said, leaning in closer to him conspiratorially, though they were the only ones down there. A playful and hesitant smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, a hopeful change of the mood between them. “But I can keep a secret.”

Throndir appraised him for a brief moment, a friendly sort of relief in his smile, before saying “What do you know about vampires?”

“What.”

“It’s related, I promise,” Throndir said, and let out a small laugh at Ephrim’s sudden, comically perturbed expression. He settled into a more comfortable position to get into what was clearly going to become a capital C Conversation. “So, when we were doing that investigation in Rosemerrow, and Fero and I went to go see Solomon and Lake at the jail, we got there at the same time as Arrell. And he— he got me. I broke his staff, which was good, but... I died, Ephrim.” Throndir didn't have to reach out for Ephrim’s emotions to see the empathy clear on his face. He continued. “I died, but Victoria made me an offer, and I took it. Long story short, the Golden Lance are vampires. Me included.”

“So you’ve— “ Ephrim abruptly cut himself off, then amended his thought with: “I’ve seen you eat.”

Throndir blinked at the earnest statement, then laughed. Ephrim laughed too, flustered by the revelation.

“I do need to keep up appearances, you know, this isn’t something that needs to be public knowledge. You’re the first person I’ve told, honestly.”

“I’m… honored?” Ephrim said, tilting his head to the side. “Yeah, honored is the right word. I would say congrats, but… yeah. Do you _need_ to eat?”

“Not traditionally, no. And I don't drink blood or anything like that, that’s not really how it works.”

“Then how?” Ephrim moved until he was seated instead of kneeling, and he turned the trowel over in his hands. Their knees were close to touching. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“It’s emotions. Also sometimes blood, yes, but it's more of a vapor weapon thing, I think?” He shook his head. “I don’t know, that’s not something I really have experience with. But I’m not going to pin you down and suck your blood, though, if you were worried.”

Ephrim hummed, traced a pattern into the dirt. Throndir thought he saw a faint blush rise on his face in the dim light, but didn’t comment on it.

“Eating for us is like draining the energy from someone. You can kind of skim the top off in big excited crowds or a little at a time from everyone you come across, but it’s still hard to stop from bleeding people dry, so to speak.”

“Are you alright, then?” Ephrim asked, his brow furrowed. “Do you— how much do you need? How much can you take?”

“I don’t really know. I’m functioning, obviously, but that’s not a limit I really feel comfortable testing. Not here.”

“Well, _I’m_ the only one in here.”

“And I don’t want to hurt you.” His reply was immediate, and Ephrim leaned back a little at the force of it. “It hurts people, and you of all people don’t need to feel worse.”

“Neither do you,” Ephrim put a timid hand on Throndir’s knee. Throndir took his hand and squeezed.

“Plenty of people here are having to make do with less food than they need, and I’m no different.”

“Throndir… I would let you. If you really needed it you could take… whatever it is you need.”

“No,” Throndir let go of Ephrim’s hand and picked up his pruning shears again, clicked them a few times before reaching over to a nearby sprout and cutting off its dead leaves. “You don’t know what you’re offering. _I_  don’t know what you’re offering. I appreciate it, don’t get me wrong, but you’re one of our leaders. You need all the strength you can get. I’m here to help you, not hurt you.”

“And I’m here to do the same.” Ephrim picked up his trowel, and set to work on a plant on the edge of his reach. “I’m serious, though. If you ever need me to make that offer again...”

“I know you will.”

“But are you okay right now?” Ephrim asked after several more minutes of pruning and digging in silence. “You were quiet when I walked in.”

“I’m fine, really.”

Ephrim raised an eyebrow at him. “Sure. Like I said… if something ever happens and you need someone, I’m right here.”

“If it ever comes to that I’ll take you up on it,” Throndir said. He shook his head with an exasperated smile. “But we won’t let it come to that.”

 

//

 

“Ephrim,” Throndir rapped his knuckles on the door as he entered the Lord’s office. “Do you have a second?”

Ephrim leaned on the desk, his back to the door. His head hung down, and if he hadn’t been gripping the desk so tightly, Throndir would’ve thought he’d fallen asleep on his feet again. Papers with smudged scratches littered the desk, held down by open books and half empty glasses of water. Ephrim did not answer him, but he straightened up at the sound of Throndir’s voice.

“You good?”

Ephrim’s breath escaped him in a long, shuddering rasp. But he nodded, and Throndir quietly closed the door behind him. He rounded the desk and caught Ephrim’s elbow, a familiar gesture they’d gotten into the habit of doing. The violent flinch he got in response sent Ephrim into a coughing fit, and Throndir caught him at the arm and the waist before he could drop to the floor.

“You’re sick.”

“I’m—”

“You’re _not_ fine,” Throndir said, cold. He less guided and more pushed Ephrim into his chair, and he collapsed into it with a further round of coughs. He took the lukewarm glass of water Throndir pressed into his hands. “You shouldn’t lie to me.”

Ephrim dragged one hand across his face, and the glass threatened to slip from the other.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “It just set in.”

“You’re still lying,” Throndir chided him gently, taking his place leaning against the desk. “Drink.”

Ephrim drank.

“Were you going to tell me?” He asked. Ephrim sighed, shook his head. Throndir dropped his voice to a whisper. “This could be really bad.”

“You say that like I’m not already dying,” he spat, waved his right hand in Throndir’s direction. “No use treating the symptoms.”

“Whoa, whoa, hey wait. Wait.” Throndir caught his wrist and looked at his hand, but he was wearing gloves, and he curled it into a fist to yank it out of his grip. Throndir kept a hold on him though, with an apologetic grimace. Ephrim clamped his jaw shut tight enough that it _looked_ like it hurt, the regret at his slip up apparent in his eyes. Throndir loosened his grip so that he could just keep the point of contact with him, keep him grounded. “Hold on. What do you mean you’re dying?”

“It’s catching up to me,” he muttered, quieted by his hoarse voice. “That’s what happens when you kill the man who saved you, I guess.”

He laughed, bitter, and it dissolved into a cough. Throndir moved to hold Ephrim’s hand instead of his wrist, but he pulled it away and folded it tight to his chest.

“Ephrim, what’s going on?”

They stared each other down, wary and tender in equal measure. Ephrim broke first— he sighed, and began to pull his glove off at his fingertips.

“You know,” he began, “you should count yourself lucky you’re not religious. Because let me tell you, meeting your shitty fake god fucking sucks.”

“Samothes was kind of an asshole.”

“Yeah.” Ephrim hesitated before pulling his glove completely off his hand. Or rather, what was left of it. Throndir gasped at the pulsing nothingness burning away at the shape of his hand; the black was hard to look at, because it simply _was_ not. It engulfed his palm, and was starting to eat away at his middle and ring fingers. His thumb was gone.

“ _He_ did that to you?”

Ephrim sighed, deep in his chest. “Yes, he did,” he said, like he was emphasizing the point to himself as well as Throndir. “On the way to the Archives, I was killed. And he brought me back. And after, _this_ replaced my fire.” He flicked his wrist and purple flames erupted from the tips of his remaining fingers for just long enough for Throndir to take in the change and for Ephrim’s face to go pale, like he was about to be sick. Throndir couldn’t tell if it was from exertion or the horror of losing his hand so slowly. He dropped his hand with the trick, and it landed heavy on the arm of his chair. His head dipped. “But you saw that. The cough is just a symptom. It’s not worth treating.”

“What are you _talking_ about?” Throndir reached out and gently touched Ephrim’s jaw.

“Do you hear yourself? Like really, truly can you hear what you’re saying?” Throndir leaned forwards to try and look Ephrim in the eye, but he refused. “Not only is that a shitty line of thinking, but you sound _awful_. I’m getting you some Sun’s Breath once you finish that water.”

Ephrim shook his head once more. “I can take care of myself. I appreciate it, really, but I’ll be _fine._ ” The last word was eaten by a cough. He sank further down in his chair. Throndir drew his hand away. “Leaders don’t get sick.”

“Clearly they do. Nobody’s going to judge you for taking a day off.”

“But they’ll worry, and doubt, and _then_ they’ll start judging.” Ephrim finally looked back at Throndir, and his eyes were empty of any heat. Excuses, excuses. “And then they’ll oust me, and maybe that’s for the better.”

Throndir frowned. “Nobody thinks that, and if they do they can get the fuck out. Take the day off tomorrow, Ephrim.”

His normal hand tightened around the glass as he finished off its contents.

“Listen, I know it’s hard. I haven't slept much either, between this and the Golden Lance— every damn day I’m scared they’ll come calling and I’ll have to leave you all and come back to ruins.”

“I’m not going to drive this place into ruins.”

“I know. I know. I still worry. I’d worry less if you took some time for yourself. If you didn’t hide the fact that you’re _dying_ , Ephrim.”

“I’m sorry,” Ephrim said. He set his glass down on the desk beside Throndir, and leaned on an armrest. “You shouldn’t worry about things that won’t happen. When the Golden Lance do call you away, you’ll always have somewhere to come back to, I promise.” He looked down and added, “Even if I can’t promise to be there to welcome you home.”

“I won’t ask the impossible of you,” Throndir said. “But can you promise me to take the day off for now? So you’ll be here to welcome me home as long as you can?”

“Sure. Whatever gets you to stop breathing down my neck.” The sarcastic lilt to his raspy voice made Throndir smile gently. He pulled himself up out of his slumped position, and affixed him with a sharp look that did not betray any of what his hoarseness did. “But what were you here for, anyways?”

“I’ll tell you later.” Throndir grinned, stood up at Ephrim’s scoff and placed a hand on his shoulder. “But right now, I’m getting you that Sun’s Breath. Don’t go anywhere.”

“Believe me, I’m staying right where I am.”

 

//

 

Ephrim was in bed, silent, his blanket tangled around his torso while he stared at the far corner of the room. His hand pulsed in time with the flashes of memory that perturbed him. He sat up.

He was dressed, mostly, and he put on his boots one-handed in the dark. The blanket tugged at his waistband as he stood, and he shrugged it up and over his shoulders like a cloak, which it was thin enough to be. It’s not like anyone but the guards on watch would be up to see him like this anyway, a child in a blanket pretending to be a king.

Ephrim slipped down the stairs and out through the kitchen adjacent to the throne room/audience hall/mess. He held the blanket cape loosely around his shoulders as he made his way to the inner wall through the shadows under buildings. He made it without seeing anybody, and approached the first guard tower with no intention of stopping by it— he’d do a perimeter check and get back to bed. Maybe two perimeter checks.

“Ephrim?”

He started, and looked up at Throndir.

“Is something wrong?” He asked, leaning over the wooden wall of the guard tower.

“No,” Ephrim lied, blinking. “I just— I couldn’t sleep.”

Throndir frowned. “Is that your blanket?”

“Maybe.”

“You’d better come up here.” Throndir stood back, disappearing into the tower. Ephrim kept looking up, past where he was and past the post’s roof and to the starstuff that arced overhead. He let out a long breath. The cold weather and the remnants of his cough made his chest hurt. He started to climb the ladder, up towards Throndir.

His (friend, co-leader, compatriot, partner?) sat on the far end of a small bench clearly meant for one person, another blanket in his hands. He gestured for Ephrim to come sit, and he did. Throndir draped his blanket over both of their legs, and Ephrim followed suit by draping his blanket over their shoulders. He settled in, scanning the treeline that stretched out towards the river. Fog crept up through the branches in the distance.

“So why are you really out here?” Throndir asked, quiet, as if someone could hear them up here. They sat pressed together. “Is that cough still bothering you?”

“No, I just couldn’t sleep,” Ephrim said. He rested his head on Throndir’s shoulder. “That’s it. Thought I’d come out here, try to clear my head.”

Throndir hummed. They were silent for a while. Crickets and other restless animals served as entertainment for the two of them as they kept watch. Throndir turned his head in Ephrim’s direction, about to say something, but stopped at a distant deer sound. He pressed his face into Ephrim’s hair instead, and Ephrim closed his eyes.

“You can tell me what’s wrong, if you need to,” he said. “Not now, if you don’t want. But it feels like something you shouldn’t be keeping to yourself if you’re up this late because of it.”

Ephrim sighed. “Yeah. You’re right.” He straightened up, taking his head off of Throndir’s shoulder. He paused for a moment, then reached for Throndir’s hand. Throndir let him take it.

“I told you about the first time I met Samothes, right?” Throndir nodded. Ephrim couldn’t meet his eyes, and stared out at the forest. “But I didn’t tell you about the second time.”

“No.”

“I— “ Ephrim searched for a way to begin, starting and stopping several times. Throndir ran his thumb across the back of Ephrim’s hand, encouraging. He took a deep breath. “When I put the sword back together. My sword, you know the one. The one that brought back the sun. I put it together and I kind of missed that last bit because I… was with him. I was in his forge except then I knew, I _knew_ it wasn’t him. That fucking bastard—” He stopped, swallowed. He could feel his face get hot and his throat get tight and he hated it, but the only one seeing him was Throndir. Ever solid, ever perceptive. He kept going. “He was using me, and he didn’t even _try_ to deny it, couldn’t even let me go on believing I had control of this— that I was my own damn person. So I killed him. Samothes is dead.” His voice broke, as did his composure.

Throndir let go of his hand, but pulled him closer with an arm around his shoulders as he cried. After a minute, he reached for Ephrim’s face with a tentative hand. He wiped at the tear tracks and gently, firmly directed Ephrim to look at him, red eyes, red face and all.

“Thank you for telling me this. You can’t keep killing someone like that to yourself.” He smiled, but there was a tiredness behind it that made Ephrim want to tug the blankets up around them and make sure _he_ was the one feeling alright and getting enough sleep and not carrying around such weight on his shoulders. “I’m glad you told me, and I swear to you I won’t tell anyone else about this.”

“Thank you,” Ephrim said, his voice thick. “Thank you. I really wouldn’t be here without you, I owe you a lot.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Ephrim.” Throndir moved his hand from Ephrim’s face to his knee, giving him the opportunity to wipe his eyes dry.

“We wouldn’t be here if you weren’t so competent at everything you set out to do. You’re kind and thoughtful and a good person, and I— thank you.” Ephrim shook his head. He met Throndir’s eyes again. “You mean a lot to me.”

Throndir just looked at him for a long while with tenderness in the tired lines of his face while Ephrim regained his composure. When he finally spoke, he was quiet but insistent. “Can I kiss you?”

Ephrim only stopped to consider the ask for a second out of shock. Then, a small smile broke out across his features. “Yes.”

And so he did.

He held Ephrim with one arm around his waist, his other hand gentle on Ephrim’s jaw.

Ephrim looped his arms around Throndir’s neck to pull him closer, wanted to hold and be held, to climb into his lap and live up here in this perch with this man forever, but settled for deepening the kiss. He vaguely recognized that he was crying again when they pulled apart for air, but kissed Throndir before he could notice and worry. He’d done too much of that for him.

Throndir touched his forehead to Ephrim’s several long moments later and dawn started to turn the horizon a misty blue-green, illuminating them in their brief haven.

 

**Author's Note:**

> i also made them a playlist because i'm That Bitch who's in Deep  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/23hMg420f4CFGuH8fwQaY3


End file.
